


Sophia

by geniusincombatboots



Series: Guardians [1]
Category: Boardwalk Empire, Night at the Museum (2006 2009)
Genre: Adoption, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniusincombatboots/pseuds/geniusincombatboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Capone winds up with more than he bargained for when he agrees to take care of an associate's daughter, Sophia, a quiet little girl with secrets. Meanwhile George tries to ensure that history takes its rightful course while trying to fight enemies on multiple fronts. Diana Marlow, his wife struggles to support her children and live with the choices she's made. A prequel to The Guardian Series. Possibly triggering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Four Deuces

George Marlow was a large and imposing man, well know to almost every man on staff that he passed in the hallway in the house at 2222 South Wabash Ave. The townhouse was normal and to a passerby with a virtuous mind it might be nothing more than a townhouse. Bit was far more and to anyone with eyes to see it was a brothel, and the temporary seat of power of one Alphonse Capone, or really of Giovanni Torrio, who was currently the head of the Chicago Crime Syndicate. But George like a few others knew that the young enforcer was being groomed for power. Capone knew it too, that’s why he was so able to walk around as if he owned the world. As of yet, the young man was not well known, which was well enough for George’s purposes. Alphonse owed him more than one favor, and before the man began to go mad, George meant to see through this debt.

“Mr. Gallucio,” George smiled at the large man at the door, “Is he in?”

Frank thought that he liked George all right. He was a quiet but the sort but when he did talk, he was listened to. His voice sounded like something out of the far North Eastern expanses of the Soviet Union, but Frank wasn’t sure if that was real, or if he simply imagined it because the accent was just that, like a faint flavor of something on meat. With the arrival of Mr. Marlow, Frank thought about the likelihood of wet work and wondered what had happened.

“Yeah,” Gallucio said, “But he ain’t alone.”

“How long will he be?”

Frank shrugged and George leaned against the wall by the door.

“Did he call you in?”

“No I have some things to discuss with him,” George said.

“What?”

“It’s private.”

George’s head turned as the door opened and a giggling redhead hurried out. George pushed it quickly, not wasting a moment, “Mr. Capone I need to collect on a favor done for you.”

Capone had not even been able to open his mouth to greet the man before George had begun to speak, “Yeah what is it you want?” If George wanted cash he would have taken the sum that he had been offered. It had not fully occurred to Al until this moment how dangerous a payment favors could be, especially for crimes. Whatever George asked, they would have to give. He knew too much now.

“I have something that I need you to protect. Something precious to me.”

“What is it?”

“My daughter.”

Sybilla sat at the bar in the brothel, her small feet hanging in the air under the barstool. The little girl may have been three or four, but she was too small. She drank lemonade from a glass that she held in both hands. The nice man behind the bar had asked her father’s permission before offering her anything, but she still wasn’t sure she trusted him. The underfed girl stared at the woman in her nightgown that chattered away next to her.

The young woman with curly red hair was nice, but Sybilla stared at her over the glass, confused. How could she be so happy? Sybilla knew what this place was, and she wondered if her mother was selling her to these people. She had hoped that he father might be more helpful than this, but then she supposed that you really couldn’t trust anyone.

There were feet on the stairs drawing Sybilla’s eyes turned to the noise. She watched her father walk out through the door with one look over his shoulder as he put his hat on. Her thin shoulders slumped in defeat. It was then to be what she feared. Her fingers found the small cat in her jacket pocket carved of black stone.

“What have you got there, Sophia?” A man was walking towards her. He was average height and weight.

“Bastet,” she said quietly.

“Pardon?” Al asked, confused.

“She’s that cat goddess in Egyptian mythology. Bastet was a protection deity and patroned dance, music, and love,” she looked at the small black carving, “My father gave it to me.”

“Are you... you’re going to stay with me."

“I figured that,” Sybilla said, her green eyes studied him. He thought her name was Sophia, so it must be now. She wasn’t sure if her father had given her the name or if he had, either way it was better than Sybilla. It meant wisdom, “Will I live here?”

The thought of that seemed to unsettle the man, “No. You’ll be living with me and my family.”

She nodded drinking her lemonade, “They didn’t put any alcohol in it, I think,” she said. “What is you name?”

“Alcohol is illegal, and my name is Al. I guess you could say I’m your uncle.”

Sophia looked up at him with the dourest look he had ever seen on a child, “Is this a permanent situation? Do you know?”

“I don’t,” he touched the thin material of the jacket she was wearing, “Is this the warmest thing you have?”

Sophia flinched at the reaching hand, “Yes.”

Al’s brow furrowed at the small, almost unnoticeable motion, “It’s colder here than in Brooklyn, you know that?” he asked, smiling gently, trying to ease the child. He picked her up setting her on the ground, “I have some work I have to finish up some work here, but Mr. Gallucio is going to take you down to Woolworth’s to buy some winter clothes, ok?”

Sophia, because she was Sophia now, whoever that was, stared up at him not answering and Al thought that she would get along quite well with Sonny. His second thought was that she dotty. George had been rather vague as to why he was taking in this little girl, but from what Al could put together it had something to do with Mrs. Marlow. This was in fact the first time that Al had heard of either Sophia or Mrs. Marlow, or any sort of Marlow family.

Gallucio held his hand out to Sophia who hesitated but accepted it. The pair walked in silence from the brothel and out onto the street to Frank’s car. Al could see the little girl’s worn grey jacket from the window and noted that the faded cotton of her coat melted in with the snowbound city.

He hoped that Frank would know to buy mittens and hats. Al watched them drive away and he went back up to his office and tried to focus on account books until he gave up and went out after Gallucio and Sophia.


	2. Woolworth's

 

Sophia stared at a blue coat, her hand touching the blue worsted wool of the garment. She had never owned anything so fine in her life. It certainly looked warm. She liked the color as well. It was bright and made her think of the cold teal stones her father brought back times from his trips to Egypt.

“My father is an archeologist,” she said quietly, letting Gallucio take the coat from her hand.

Frank looked down at her, “Really?” he asked, remembering watching George wash blood off of his hands.

“Yes, he just came back from Egypt.”

“Did he? On an expedition?”

“I think so. It must have been. That’s why he’s so tan now.”

“That must be an interesting line of work,” he smiled, “Like an adventure story or something. Has he ever taken you with him to Egypt?”

“I don't know. Maybe," she hesitated, not sure how much he should say. "He says it is rather dangerous out there in the desert, but I would like to go,” she did not want to say that it occurred to her that her father might not be coming back at all. He hadn’t said goodbye, but she needed to defend him in some way. She had to make it clear that her father was not the sort that would just leave his daughter somewhere, “That’s where he’s gone now. My mother wasn’t feeling well and he did not want me to interrupt his important work.”

“Of course,” Frank was surprised to hear the little girl talking so much and out of nowhere. The little girl fell silent again and didn’t say anything else for a while.

“Hey, how is it going here?” Al Capone came around the corner of the aisle, “Hello there.”

“Sophia was just telling me about her father’s work as an archeologist,” Frank said, “In Egypt.”

There was a moment of surprise that crossed Al’s face, “Oh, really? That’s interesting work.”

“Don’t you know what he does? He said you’re his friend,” The precocious child said staring up at him with eyes that were too big for her hungry thin face.

“He didn’t tell me he was working in Egypt,” Al said, “And you know he is about his work, everything is a secret, or else he’ll talk for hours.” The man had an easy laugh and Sophia smiled a little up at him.

“Did you get gloves? A hat?” Al looked at Gallucio, “She might need wool stockings. Do you have any other dresses?”

Sophia’s mouth opened and closed.

“Ok, come along then.”

“My mother is very sick,” she said making excuses again.

“Yeah?” Al asked, taking her hand gingerly, “So you haven’t been able to go to the store?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the matter with her?”

Sophia hesitated, “She gets headaches and she has to lay down. Sometimes she throws up and she drinks her medicine and sometimes it makes her more sick.”

Al watched the little girl who didn’t look up at him while she spoke as if she was making it all up as she went, “Does your mother work as well?”

“She goes to the places with the men and then she gets money.”

“Does she come home with them.”

“Sometimes, but mostly…” Sophia stopped talking for a moment.

“They play games?” Al asked, trying to help. Maybe Mrs. Marlow was just cheating on her husband.

“Yes.”

“Private games?”

“No cards or the one with the running dogs.”

Mrs. Marlow was a gambler then. Al was now certain of it. Then she must not be a good one, which would explain the drinking.

Sophia looked at everything on the shelves then at another little girl with her family. They looked happy. There was smiling, and handholding. She looked clean and well dressed and as if someone was proud of her.

Her uncle tugged her gentle along, “Come on, princess.”

She looked up at him confused by the use of an affectionate term, but was afraid to ask him why he did it. Sophia looked up at the toys on the shelves and did not ask for anything. There was a doll on the shelf at her eye level made of white porcelain with bobbed hair and a drop-waist dress that was popular now. The doll looked like a modern young woman. Sophia hesitated before moving on. Frank walked behind her a few feet, watching her.

Al handed off garments on hangers to Frank, sometimes holding them up to Sophia to size them properly. They left with three dresses, four pairs of stockings a pair of new boots, a coat, a hat and some mittens. She eyed the sum, not in the least looking forward to repaying him for the clothes.

The man that was now her uncle put the coat quickly on her, as soon as it was paid for, “It’s snowing again. I don’t want you to catch a cold out there.”

She studied him as he dressed her in outerwear eying the other little girl who stood there with her wavy blonde hair and blue eyes. She smirked at Sophia who used to be Sybilla and turned on her heel as if she was no longer worth the time it might take to look at her.

Sophia walked out with Al who helped her into his car.

Frank said his goodbyes, saying that he had some errands to do for his wife, and as Sophia watched him go, she wondered if she was watching the last modicum of safety leave with him. She wasn’t sure what to expect of this man.

“What do I call you?” she asked as Al lifted her into the front seat of the car.

“Uncle Al, I guess,” he replied with a warm smile that Sophia did not return.

He was one of those sorts then, Sophia thought, irritably. She settled back into the seat in her new warm coat and tried to content herself that he was at least well enough off to keep her in comfort.


	3. A New Home

The house where the car stopped was large and in the suburbs outside of Chicago, called Cicero.

“Like the lawyer?” Sophia asked.

“Huh?”

“Cicero was a Roman lawyer and a writer… an orator,” she said the word very carefully as if she was afraid of mangling it on her tongue.

“I guess so then,” Al said. 

“I guess so then,” Al said. He knew who Cicero was, but he was surprised that she did. Young as she was, Al would be surprised if she could read.

She watched him walk around the car to and open the door on her side. Sophia didn’t move, but stared out through the front windshield.

“Aren’t you hungry? It’s been a long day for you, I’m sure. Your father drove here, right? From Brooklyn? Or somewhere else?”

Sophia wasn’t sure that he was asking her directly, but was simply unsure, “ I am.” She was also afraid of what there was and would be on the other side of that door. She was afraid of being alone in his house, but she couldn’t wait in this car. She couldn’t live in a car.

The girl slid from the car through the door and took the hand he offered her. It was sweaty and pressed from the steering wheel.

The little girl waited but not long for the door to open and was surprised that it yielded under his hand and wasn’t locked.

The house seemed warm and like there was family everywhere, like what Sophia imagined family felt like, warm and happy and like everyone cared what happened to you. The next few minutes passed in a confused daze as countless people pressed forward to examine her and to greet Al. There were brothers and sisters and wives and children.

One in particular was a small boy that looked somehow tired and somehow as though he was in his own world, away from everything else around him. He stared at Sophia, and Sophia smiled, but Sybilla was afraid of the boy that Al introduced to her as her cousin, his son, Alfred, whom everyone called Sonny.

“Sonny,” Al was gesturing clumsily as he spoke, “This is Sophia.”

Sonny smiled wide, waving a moment before his hands stared gesturing back at her, signing words she didn’t understand.

His father translated awkwardly, trying to follow, “He’s very happy to meet you. Sonny please try to speak aloud at least until Sophia learns to sign.”

The boy’s voice was too loud and made her think of an elephant, “A man came and he put a bed in my room. Is it yours?”

Sophia’s head turned to look up at the man that was her uncle now. He was nodding and smiling.

“Yes,” Sophia said in simple answer.

“I am glad to have someone to share with!” Sonny said eagerly, “My room is so lonesome alone.”

She stared at the boy, not sure what to make of any of this. She considered telling him that she wasn’t the warmest of companies, but he might simply want to believe it would be fun.

She accepted Sonny’s hand as he led her along to the dining room for dinner. Looking back over her shoulder, Sophia saw a pretty blonde woman come down the stairs into Al’s arms. The woman’s eyes fell on Sophia with curiosity and kindness. The lean of his head told Sophia that he was making excuses for having the girl there.

x0x0x0x

George bowed low to the Egyptian King, his hands folded over his chest. The Queen at his side smiled at George as she often did, without showing it. She wondered where he had managed to hide away his little girl. She liked George and she liked how he was with her son, her only child, but she wasn’t sure she should think to trust him.

Shepseheret knew better that to trust his apprentice, Evelyn. There was something to her that made the Queen uncomfortable. Something was wrong in her ways and she had been so keen to tell her superiors that George had his daughter with him on an assignment. There has been some issue as to how she had come to be there as well, a small child, alone.

George had left with the girl before the men had come for her, and he returned now without them. It would upset Ahkmenrah She knew that he had become fond of the girl. He had even worked at his Greek lessons for the first time, with her help.

“Have you seen to your daughter’s affairs?” Merenkahre’s voice pulled her out of her own thoughts. The voice that was meant to seem as the voice of a god but simply sounded like a shouting monotone. That projecting flat tone rang through the stone chambers.

“I have, your majesty.”

“She is with her mother then?”

George hesitated, and Shepseheret knew she was not. The thought of the girl somewhere else put Shepseheret’s mind at ease. There was something wrong at home.

“You should then return to your duties, “Merenkahre proclaimed, “Your apprentice should be with the priests. See to your work.”

George bowed low backing from the heir of Horus. There would be a more informal conversation later. Merenkahre was eager to father more children by his Queen. He had many wives and women kept for him, but she was almost certain that he genuinely loved her in a way he loved no other woman. Yet she had managed only one pregnancy in the almost twelve years they had been married. She had taken his first son into her care when his mother passed, but she found him a brash and irritating youth and she was eager to ensure through her line that Kahmunrah would not take the throne.

George walked from the room, into a throng of children, all vaguely similar. He had long ago given up on keeping track of all of Merenkahre’s children. There were a few that he remembered, but the droves of them faded into a large mass of one child. Ahkmenrah broke from the group, running to George without so much as an excuse made to his brothers and sisters for his departure.

The open beaming face of the child grinned up at George. As was the case with almost every Egyptian child, he was without clothing, a fact that had deeply disturbed Sybil. His head was shaved but for a braid in front of his right ear.

“Big George! I have taken all of my lessons and I would like now to see Sybie!” the precocious child said. “Where is she?”

“She isn’t here. She’s gone home.”

The prince’s normally sweet and happy disposition fell quickly as if he had been struck, “Why?”

“Her mother missed her of course.”

“But Sybie does not miss her mother!”

George stooped down to the boy’s height, “What makes you say that.”

“That it is the truth. Sybie is afraid of the monsters and her mother does nothing about them.”

“What monsters?”

“The ones that Sybie told me about that come in the night. She said that they have claws, that they slip in after her bedtime.”

George nodded, “What does she say the monsters do?”

“She did not say.”

“Then there you go. Sybil was just trying to scare you,” George pressed his hand against the little boys shoulder, “There are no such things as monster.”

Ahkmenrah nodded, “Yes of course not.” He looked back up at George earnestly, “Will she ever come back? To visit, maybe?”

“We’ll see,” George smiled.

“She is the only friend I have that is not in the family, “I want to see her again.”

“You will. I am certain of it,” George said, “You should get along to your supper now.” He tugged the boy’s braid gently, a small charm at his fingertips to ease the boy’s forgetting her. Remember the feeling, but forget the girl.


	4. That Look

Sophia let herself be led along by the hand up the stairs. Ralph was Al’s brother. He was going to give her a bath. She felt as if she was slipping out of herself as she often did, before she was… what were the words. She couldn’t think of them, if there were words. There was just the hovering ominousness. It was easier to be someone else. To be Sophia, but she was still building her, so she had to be someone else, someone that didn’t care and didn’t feel.

It was a hard thing to do and sometimes she didn’t manage it, but if she could it was better. She didn’t want to see of hear and if she was lucky it would feel as though she had slid under the surface of water in a tub. She could hear the pounding sound of the water filling up around her ears, but everything outside of the water was distorted.

Ralph reached a hand under the tap to feel the temperature. He had children of his own and he knew to make sure the water was not too hot. He helped her out of the worn cotton dress she was wearing and he helped her into the tub of warm water. 

The little girl screamed suddenly, kicking at him, "Let me go!"

"Hey, careful, kid," Ralph grasped her arm gingerly trying to keep her from hurting herself or him.

x0x0x0x

“She might not even be with us that long,” Al explained to Mae.

“But she might,” Mae said, looking away from him, “Just tell me, is she yours? If she is, I will not make a scene. I will not be angry, I just want to know the truth.”

“No, of course not.”

“Then who is her father? Who is her mother?”

“I would tell you, but I promised not to," Al said, as if it sounded like

“Really?” Mae’s voice had the dull flat copper ring of a woman used to being lied to.

Al and Mae both looked up at the ceiling suddenly at the sound of screaming, "The hell...?"

Ralph came running down the stairs, "Al, got a moment?"

AL looked back at his wife, an apologetic smile flashing across his face.

She waved her hand dismissively, “Sure.”

“What the problem?” Al asked, eying his brother.

"The kid... Sophia something's wrong there."

"Like what kind of wrong?"

"Like...." Ralph looked at him then back

Al laughed, “What?” A look at Ralph’s face and his smile slid away entirely, “She’s a kid.”

"I don't know... I mean..." Ralph hesitated, "I was giving her a bath, but she started crying and screaming."

“You think someone’s hurting her?”

“I think Mama or Mae should wash her. You or me, it might not be wise.”

Al turned his head to look at Mae. The blonde woman stared at them as if she could hear their every whispered word across the room.

“Ok.”

 x0x0x0x

Mae opened the bathroom door before closing it carefully behind her. The large empty hazel eyes stared at her anxiously.

“Is the water alright?” Mae asked.

“I’ve never done it with a lady,” Sophia whispered quietly.

“Done what, sweetheart?” Mae asked.

She stared down at her skinny knees, not answering.

Mae sat on the edge of the tub, “We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to talk about.”

Sophia shifted in the tub, the water splashing lightly against the porcelain sides.

“You are safe here,” Mae whispered, “We are going to make sure that no one ever hurts you again.”

The little girl looked back up back up at Mae, not sure if she should believe her.

“I brought soap and washcloth,” Mae said gently, “If you would rather be alone, I can wait outside.”

The girl smiled and Mae noted that the smile did not reach her eyes, “Do you know any stories?” She took the soap from Mae’s creamy white hand, rubbing it against one of the damp clothes.

“Plenty. What kind do you like?”

“The kind where the monsters die at the end.”

Mae did her best not to look surprised as she racked her brain for a story that fit the request.


	5. Nightmares

The young man dressed for bed in the room that he sometimes shared with his wife. Mae had tucked both her son and the little girl called Sophia into the new bed that Al had bought for her. As Mae did this, Al thought very seriously about what he had taken on in Sophia.

Mae slipped silently through the door, “I think she might actually be a sweet kid.”

“Did she tell you anything about what Ralph said?”

“Not really, but I think he might be right. I don’t know any particulars.”

“That is all so fucked up,” Al groaned, rubbing his eyes, “I mean, I’ve heard of some fucked up…. But never…. Jesus.”

“Language,” Mae warned taking her dress off. She hung it in the closet, “Do you know anything of her family? That you can tell me I mean.”

“Her father said that we had to watch her because he had work and her mother is sick… If she’s that sort of sick, do you think a mother could be capable of…” His voice faltered as if he could not even fathom the words that he might have to use to describe it.

“No. She said she had never been with a woman.”

Al leaned against the headboard, the words confirming the awfulness of it. “Do you really not mind this?”

“What? Talking in another woman’s child to raise?” Mae brushed her hair, and paused to look at him in the mirror, the look carried all of the irony she intended, in case he lost any of it in her words.

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Please,” she looked back at her reflection, wiping cold cream over her face. She wiped it clean with a clean handkerchief.

Al pulled back the covers and nestled under them as if this whole disgusting knot in his stomach would go away if he could just get the knot under the covers.

x0x0x0x

The screaming, crying voice echoed through the house, begging for mercy, for her mother to make it stop. Al sat up startled awake. He stumbled out into the hallway, down the corridor to Sonny’s room, to Sonny and Sophia’s room. 

His son, deaf, slept on, but the girl, Sophia cried. Her long ragged wails pierced his heart. In later years when people would profess that he had no heart, he would think of Sophia crying and remember that he might very well have one.

Al picked her up in his arms, rubbing her thin back, “Shhhh….”

The wet sobs rattled against his chest, but muffled against his shoulder. Her tiny hands beat against his chest and shoulders and back. She clawed his face, “Please! No!”

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Sophia,” he muttered, holding her tightly in his arms, “Shhh, it’s ok. Everything is alright. Everything is alright.”

Moments passed and slowly she fell quiet, save for the soft weeping breaths against his collar.

Sonny, unable to hear her, still slept on, nestled down under his covers.  Al looked at his son and thought for a moment that he was luckier than Al had thought when he had woken up in the morning.

He felt Sophia’s wet face pressed against his neck, the low shaking breaths stirred the collar of his pajamas. He carried her back to the room that he shared with Mae. His wife pulled back the coverlet to make it easier for Al to slip Sophia into the warm bed.

“Hey there,” Mae whispered.

Al pulled the covers back over the three of them, shifting his weight as Mae stroked the hair out of Sophia’s eyes. The back of her fingers stroked the round wet cheeks. She wrapped an arm around the little girl. Sophia’s breath was panicked, afraid.

“There, there now.”

Sophia kept waiting for something bad to happen, but the only sound was the deep breathing of two sleeping people. Mae’s hand smoothed Sophia’s full black curls against Sybil’s head, humming softly until Sophia fell asleep. In a moment before, she wasn’t sure who she was pretending to be anymore, or which little girl she was.

 


	6. Lunch

The morning’s light illuminated the cotton sheets under Sophia’s face. The bed was empty except for the little girl. She could smell food being cooked somewhere in the house and voices downstairs. Sitting up, Sophia wiped the sleep from her eyes and got up.

Her worn dress had served for a nightgown. She went to her and Sonny’s room to the closet. She looked at the new dresses there. She pulled on a white one with long sleeves and lace at the collar and cuffs. The wool of the stockings didn’t itch as much as she thought they might. She slid her feet into the boots, and fumbled with the laces a few minutes before giving up and going down the stairs to breakfast and to find someone to help her tie her shoes.

Cousins finished breakfast and got ready for school. Sophia watched the normal, joyous clamor from the doorway. Cries of “he pulled my hair!” and “give it back!” filled the small space where the family crammed themselves, and filled mismatched china plates with eggs and sausages.

The thick figure of Nonna Theresa parted the crowd of her laughing sons, chiding them in Italian and smacking at Al with a spatula.

“Have you eaten?” Mae asked, coming up around, Sophia.

“Not yet,” Sophia admitted, embarrassed by her behavior during her night terrors.

Mae took the little girl’s hand in hers, guiding her through the clamor before picking her up and settling her on Al’s lap, “Your uncle is going to help you with your meats, dear.”

Al looked over Sophia’s head in surprise, but the look Mae sent him told him better than to say anything. Theresa called something over to Al who translated, “How do you like your eggs?”

“Me?” Sophia asked. Eggs had been such a commodity at her mother’s house that she had rarely had time to form an opinion of them, “Runny, I guess.”

“You like to dip ‘em?”

She nodded, still feeling embarrassed about her fit the night before. She found herself honestly rather confused about the parents’ reaction to her crying. Her father had always professed to love her but had been of the strong mind that if he caved to her crying for anything it would make her a spoiled brat. As such it had been left to the little girl to soothe herself when in a fit of tears, or else to cry until she exhausted herself.

Having passed the instruction to his mother, Al, ran a swarthy hand over Sophia’s hair, “Have you brushed it through, yet?”

“No.”

He twisted a tangled, curly lock between his fingers, “Mae, do you know what to do with this at all?”

Mae peered over at the thick mane of tightly curled black hair, trying to think of a way to describe it to herself that wasn’t rude. It wasn’t Sophia’s fault that her hair frizzed and that no one took care of it.

“I’ll take her to the hair salon and see what they think.”

The gangster grunted an affirmative, and picked a sausage link up and dropping it on the plate in front of her, “They’re fresh.”

Sophia stared at the link the way she had stared at her dinner. She had never seen so much food, and she expected to have it pulled away from her constantly. But it was offered again. Al’s thick arms on either side of Sophia cushioned her in securely as he sliced the meat into quarter inch thick slices.

Her small fingers moved slowly as if she was still afraid someone was going to smack the food out of her hand.

“Use a fork,” Al said as gently as anyone could remember him ever saying anything.

She hesitated and looked at him then at the utensil he offered her. Mae watched carefully over Sonny’s head as she smoothed his hair against his head. She did this almost every morning before he went to school.

She knew he was bullied. Sophia would have to go to school and would probably be in his class, but Mae worried about how well she would socialize with the other children. Children always seemed to pick up on weakness the way they picked at their scabs before they healed.

xoxox

Sonny ran after his cousins for the bus stop. They were nice to him at home, but once they were in the realm of schoolyards and classmates they would neglect him for more popular peers.

Maybe Sophia would go to school too and he would have someone to eat lunch with. He understood that he was different even if he couldn’t quite understand why it mattered. He did well in classes and he could almost read now. The only thing about it that worried him was that Sophia seemed constantly afraid that someone was going to slap her.

He understood that she would be living with them, and he hoped as ardently as he could that she would be happy with them.

Mae had offered to take Sophia to lunch with her. The gleaming nickel she fed into the fare box on the trolley glinted. One of Al’s men had been offered to drive them into the city, but Mae had politely rejected the offer. She hated being a bother to anyone.

Sophia was small and passed for a toddler under the thick coat and scarf and hat. Mae picked the little bundle that could have but didn’t protest onto her lap and pointed out through the window with a leather gloved finger, naming streets so Sophia would know the way home if she was ever lost. Sophia watched the pale face, and decided that Mae was pretty even with her overbite.

She was also shy, though this confused Sophia because as far as she could tell, no one had ever hurt Mae. Her husband seemed interested in her, and she had a little boy, who was admittedly handicapped, but he seemed like a sensitive kid, and if anything simply want for friends.

The restaurant was a nice one and had Sophia come straight here, she would have remarked openly at it. The memories of Egypt were still fresh to her, however and they left an imprint that was hard to overlook.

“I’ve never been in a restaurant as nice as this,” she admitted because it was true and she knew Mae was trying to be nice.

“You can have anything you like. Would you like milk or soda pop?”

“Milk,” Sophia smiled and it was the first time Mae had seen it.

“Al told me that your father is an archeologist. He’s working in Egypt he said.”

Sophia nodded, trying to remember if she had said she had gone with him or if she hadn’t, “Thebes.”

“I don’t know very much about Egypt, except for what I see in films, of course.”

“Most people don’t and the movies are mostly wrong anyhow, I think.”

“They’re pretend.”

Sophia nodded, “Yes.”

“Do you read yet?”

“A little.”

“And you go to school?”

“No.”

“Would you like to?”

Hesitation panged like a sudden panic attack. This felt suddenly like an interrogation, as if Mae was trying to catch her in a lie, or something.

“Sophia?” Mae asked softly as a large glass of milk was set in front of her.

“May I please have steak and vegetables?” Sophia asked softly.

Mae smiled, “Anything you don’t eat we can take with us for later.”

Sophia nodded. It was a practical answer.

The large column of white milk was a different white that the linen tablecloth. It was something that only she would notice.

“We were thinking about enrolling you at Sonny’s school. Would you like to go to school with him?”

“I would like to go to school.” Sophia picked up the glass with both hands carefully, not wanting to spill any of it. It was cold, refreshing.

Later, Sophia sat in a barber’s chair as the woman in the beauty parlor squeezed the matted tangles of her hair, a look of bad news on her face.

“I don’t think there’s much I can do for most of this without tearing it out…” the woman explained.

“How much do you think would have to be cut?” Mae asked.

The knotted mass of her hair was twisted behind her head, the hair around her face left somewhat loose so Mae could see the shortness of her good hair.

“I’ll look like a flapper,” Sophia said, somewhat excited by the idea.

The hair stylist smiled, trying not to laugh, “Yeah, of course.”

“May I please?” Sophia asked her Aunt Mae in the mirror.

“I suppose we don’t have much of a choice,” she said, looking to the hair dresser then back to Sophia, “Do you want finger curls too then?”

Sophia nodded, “I’ll look like a movie star!” She could be a completely new person.

xoxox

Al sat at his desk, trying to reconcile the numbers that marched to his orders across the pages of his ledger. He wondered absently if they should be keeping things in writing. That fella down in Atlantic City, Nucky Thompson had gotten in trouble over that, hadn’t he?

His thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the office door as Gallucio walked in, “Hey Boss, I know you’re busy, but I got something for Sophia.”

Al watched the body guard, a moment of confusion flicking across his face, “What it is?”

Gallucio laid a box on the desk by his employer. “She should have a toy of her own. I gotta get back to work, sir.” He went from the office, closing the door behind him.

Al opened the lid of the box and saw the sleek black haired doll from the store. Sophia would like this. She didn’t own a doll, did she?”

 xoxox

Diana Lebowitz ran her fingers irritably though her black curly hair, anxiously. The man would be coming soon. That strange man that was so constantly interested in the little girl her husband insisted was their child. His name was Dr. Klipspringer, and he brought money and candies.

Every noise outside made Diana jump. She had made a mistake. It seemed like such a stupid thing to think now in retrospect, but she hadn’t thought it would matter. Sybilla wasn’t a real person. Sybilla wasn’t her daughter.

George had come home with her two years ago, another hungry mouth she couldn’t afford to feed. His wages covered nothing, and he insisted she stay in the tenement with their two older children Alice and Jason, the abomination, and the baby that never seemed content, Timothy.

Sybilla stared at everything and called her mother in a voice that grated at her every nerve. The doctor said she was a miracle, born of science, but Diane could see her for the devil’s spawn she was.

Dr. Klipspringer would be coming soon. He paid to examine her, but Diana wondered now if that was really what was happening. No, she knew. She had always known something was wrong, but she could feed her children. That was all that mattered, she told herself, over and over again until she believed it. She finished the rest of the bottle that was in some vague description alcohol, and tried to decide what she would tell the doctor when he came.


	7. The Struggles of the Parents Marlow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe last chapter? I know this story's kind of a hodgepodge, but there's a lot of backstory stuff and I don't know if I'll be able to fit most of it in anywhere. I hope you enjoyed it, if you think it needs work, drop a message or a review. :)

Chapter 7

Dr. Wilhelm Klipspringer had a PhD in biology. He had studied genetics, but fancied himself something of a poet and an intellectual, though no one else seemed to see him as one. His status as one of the head scientists in charge of Project Nephilim was unstable, though he seemed genuinely unaware of this and acted as though he was risking nothing in visiting his former partner’s house. The child had matured beautifully and there was no reason to think she wouldn’t continue, but tests had to be preformed, and George was so busy, constantly running about with other missions. He didn’t understand what it was to create life.

When he had first begun, Wilhelm had considered these children little more than experiments, but as they grew, they became something so much more, this one particularly. He named her Galatea, because for the first time he truly understood love and he understood that to love was to create. He was Pygmaeleon.

The wane drunk woman that watched her knew what his Galatea was and hated her, thinking her an abomination. Someday Wilhelm would take Galatea away back to her sisters.

He knocked at the door, smoothing his hair down with his hand.

Diana opened the door and at once Wilhelm could tell that she was drunk and that she had been crying.

“What’s happened?” Wilhelm asked, his voice turning cold.

“He took her,” Diana’s voice was shaking.

“What did you do?!” The doctor’s hands tightened at the brim of his hat before he shoved into the small dank flat. There was a wrought iron box crib against the wall where the runtiest of her brood stood crying loudly, protesting incoherently the poverty in which he found himself.

“If you can find her you can have her. I don’t want the brat back, but please sir,” Diana was rambling after him as he rushed through the flat. He didn’t hear the rest of her words over the rush of blood going into his head. The sound of the rage taking him over.

Diana moved quickly to Timothy, picking him up and shushing at him. She watched the man, afraid. The guilt she felt had nothing on the fear.

He was barreling across the room at her.

She dropped, curling up on herself shielding her son with her body, “I should never have listened to you. I should never have listened,” she wailed.

Dr. Wilhelm Klipspringer thought to kick her, but decided against it. It wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t her fault, he reminded himself over and over as he hurried down the hall. He had to check the others, make sure they were all where they were supposed to be.

x0x0x0x

The little boy played in the garden with a girl a little older than himself. Evelyn watched from the shade, daring not to enter the sun. Her clothes kept her more covered than anyone would want to be in this heat and the long dark veil over her face hid her face from the sun well enough. George paced behind her, reading through the papers she was collecting.

“Do you think it’s wise to leave one of the girls here?” she asked, looking at the girl that looked vaguely enough like Sybilla, but different. The similarity was only noticeable if you knew to look for it.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” George asked, half listening.

“It just seems…” she stumbled for the word.

“The worst that can happen is she’s married off and they realize she can’t breed.”

“That seems pretty terrible,” Evelyn turned back to her reluctant mentor, watching him go over placements, “If you’re already moving them-“

“I’m only moving the ones that Klipspringer knew about,” George interrupted, “Which is actually a small number. He was removed from the project while it was still in early testing.”

“Sybilla is third generation.”

George didn’t answer. Truth of it was he wasn’t sure how Wilhelm had known about her. When he had first been assigned Wilhelm as an assistant, he hadn’t thought anything of it. He was a talkative man, and a little strange, but most lab scientists that George had worked with had been strange.

Retrospectively there was something more than that. Klipspringer was obsessive and sick.

“Have the priests corrected in accordance with the charms I passed to them?” he asked, changing the topic.

“I’m waiting to hear from them,” Evelyn said, levelly, before pressing on, “Did everything go well with Sybilla? Is she safe?”

“She should settle in as soon as her vision does,” he moved a paper and made a note that sometimes Sybilla spoke as if she didn’t even notice she was experiencing anything out of the ordinary.

“She’s your favorite then?” she asked, flipping through her own notes.

“I love all of my children equally.”

“Of course,” she didn’t trust or believe him. He thought her common and there was an arrogance in his self righteousness, “She just needs nurturing. Did they think anything suspicious about your reports?”

“Not but you will have to answer for running off with her like that.”

“I don’t want her bothered.”

“Then deal with the supervisors,” she said as if it were some simple thing.

He looked at her, “Any words on the others?”

Evelyn’s gloved hand passed him an envelope, “These are simply statistics on each Nephilim in circulation. Overall the results are promising.” She glanced over her shoulder quickly, “As to the other matter, the boy seems healthy, but there is a risk of respiratory issues. The Geneticists say there’s a fifty percent chance that he won’t live to see twenty-five.”

“Your thoughts?”

She checked over her shoulder again. To predict or hypothesize the death of a Pharaoh or any of his immediate family was an offence punishable by death, “If he dies before…” she wasn’t even sure what the long term plan was here, “is it wise to hinder a second pregnancy? Shepseheret-“

“If I have not come to tell you that our plan is flawed, or if you do not, for that matter, we must assume that all is well,” George dismissed her concerns along with his own, “How are you keeping?”

“Quite well. Merenkahre has allocated a few murderers to me for sustinence.”

“How kind of him.”

“Quite.”

George chewed over something for a moment, hesitating in his concern for his investment in this agent, “I would advise you to spend more time on this and less time on your personal life.”

Evelyn looked up from her notes to George, “Explain your meaning.”

“I know you think you are being discreet, but I promise you,” he shook his head, “I know that you are looking for a way out, but may I point out that Kahmunrah will not be Pharaoh. If he is, it will not be for a long time.”

“Why do you assume there’s some nefarious reasoning in my relations?” Evelyn asked, her voice taking that low irritable tone it was so fond of.

The older agent fell silent, it wasn’t his place, but then… “Just remember that I can easily put you back where I found you.”

Evelyn stood. If it were possible, her face would be crimson with rage, but she excused herself to her rooms instead. As soon as she was out of his hearing, she muttered, “bastard,” under her breath.

“Not quite,” said a familiar voice, “My father does recognize me as his.”

She turned a smile to Kahmunrah, a young man not especially handsome or intelligent, “Does he?”

The prince reached out to stroke her cold cheek, “Oh, yes. I will be king one day.”

She knew him well enough to know this was true. He would be king not matter the cost. No matter what, Kahmunrah would sit on the throne. No one would stop him She felt a slight chill at the thought. In truth she didn’t much care for him, but he was a distraction. If Evelyn had still been in possession of a soul, she might have felt bad, but the man she had just left alone with his papers and his badge had made her life miserable, and any remnant of patience she might have had left was burning out fast.


	8. Adjustments

A month passed and Sophia was adjusting well to the new life she had out in Chicago. She went to school with Sonny and they left the house every morning, holding hands. She liked her new family, and she slowly opened up and started smiling more. Mae signed her up for ballet classes twice a week and she seemed to really like it.

She wasn’t the top of her class but she wasn’t stupid, either. Al would go over her arithmetic with her every night and she understood the simple math of addition. She read better than a four year old should have been able to. She read books on sign language and slowly she and Sonny developed a close friendship, until she was fighting the other boys for Sonny regularly and winning.

Mae sat in the headmaster’s office wearing her best fur shawl collar coat that she owned and a look of disbelief on her face. “So you are telling me that Sophia bit another student?”

“The boy’s family is quite upset,” Mr. Hawkins reiterated, “I understand that the boys can be quite a handful, but they are boys. That is to be expected, isn’t it? But Sophia is a little girl. This sort of behavior is not to tolerated, you understand? And her odd habit of talking about things she has no business knowing-“

“What do you mean?” Mae interrupted the odd rambling chauvinism that the headmaster seemed to find appropriate.

“She claims to be an oracle,” Mr. Hawkins said, as if he did not believe this in the least. “Sophia claims to be able to see people’s secrets and their thoughts. She’s scared a few of our students here. I don’t want to dismiss her, your husband has been a very generous benefactor, but if this continues…”

“I will speak with her,” Mae stood, holding her hand out to shake. She left and glanced at Sophia sitting in a chair outside of the office.

“Am I in trouble?” Sophia asked.

“We will talk about it when you get home,” Mae said, stoking Sophia’s hair. Her plaid hair ribbon needed to be adjusted, and her hair was mussed from the fight. “You go back to class now, hon.”

Sophia stroked her hand against the fur of Mae’s collar, “Does Alfred’s mother ever see him?”

“Pardon?” Mae asked, her heart pounding in her ears.

Sophia’s words slipped into Irish Gaelic, “Tá tú an máthair na leanaí caillte. Beannaigh tú.” Mae’s parents had been Irish but she had lost what little she had ever known. Sophia walked from the room, and into the corridor. Mae watched her and pressed a hand over her heart.

Mae went to the car and started it. She lit a cigarette and listened to the engine purr. No one knew. No one was ever supposed to know about the girl that died giving birth to Al’s son, her son. She watched the blurs of uniformed children through the windows. How could she know?

xoxox

Al sat across from Sophia, Mae beside him. Al leaned his forearms on his knees, “Sophia do you know what Mr. Hawkins wanted to talk to your Aunt Mae about?”

“Yes,” Sophia said, her eyes slid shut, “He says that my behavior is unacceptable.”

“Do you know what behavior he means?” Mae asked.

“I do what the boys do,” Sophia said. She shouldn’t have told Mae what she knew. She would have just thought that Mr. Hawkins was superstitious. She wanted Maw to know. Sophia was special, but now she wondered whether it wouldn’t have just been better to be ordinary. “They’re mean to Sonny, but they don’t get in trouble because they’re supposed to fight.”

“Sister Eunice told you about how Jesus says to turn the other cheek right?” Al asked, “Sometimes people are bad and we have to just walk away, right?”

Sophia’s eyes opened, and her head tilted to one side, “Have you ever heard the word…” she hesitated, “Ironic? That’s ironic, right?” She looked at Mae, “It’s ironic for Uncle Al to tell me to let things slide.

Mae stood up and came to sit next to her on the couch, “Sophia why did you ask about Alfred’s mother?”

Al stiffened, “You know that Mae is Sonny’s mother.”

“She’s his Mama,” Sophia answered, “She’s my mama too. Just because you don’t give birth doesn’t mean you aren’t a mother. Sometimes things are confusing…”

“But what made you say that?” Al leaned forward more.

Sophia crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the pillows.

“Mr. Hawkins said that you told one of the boys that you were an oracle. Do you know what an oracle is.”

“No,” Sophia said, “I’m stupid.” Her lip quirking up.

Al sat up straight, a smirk on his face, “You should be so lucky. I think being smart as you are is harder than being stupid.”

Sophia looked away, “There’s no such thing as oracles. That’s not real life.”

“If you say so,” Al said, “If you don’t want to tell us anything that would be fine. You need to make sure that you keep secrets in the future, alright?” He pressed a finger to his lips. “The people at school can’t be trusted with secrets can they?”

Mae watched him, a firmness to the set of her mouth, “Why don’t you go do your homework now, darling.”

Sophia got up and went up the stairs to Al’s office to do her reading.

“You can not be serious,” Mae said, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “Someone must have said something.”

“You’re probably right,” Al said closing the door so no one could hear them. Her father said there was something special about her and he’s probably just speaking from a father’s fondness. If she’s playing, then let her play until she’s bored of it.”

“Did you tell her?”

“Of course not,” Al said, “She’s a child playing a game. And if she isn’t-“

“Are you kidding me?!”

“If there’s something going on, we’ll figure that out later, alright?” Al wrapped his arms around Mae, “She won’t say anything else.”

Mae’s heart pounded in her chest, “What else might she know?”

Al did his best not to respond to that question, because it was one he’d been trying to figure out. In his business something like this could be a liability. He had to keep reminding himself that she was a child with an overactive imagination, “She doesn’t know. She’s playing a game, ok?”

“But-“

Al laughed, “What? She’s an oracle? A seer? There’s no such thing, ok?” he took his wife’s face in his hands. “She’s playing a game,” he repeated, “She says the same thing about her own mother. It’s probably just trauma or something.”

Mae wanted to believe that. There was only one last thread of doubt before she forced it away behind a doily of the convenient disbelief that she needed to live her life: the Gaelic. Sophia’s parents were Greek and Russian, and she spoke those languages and what seemed like Yiddish, but Gaelic. There were plenty of Irish in Brooklyn but how would she-

No. Sophia was a child playing a game. She cared for the child, and found her to be while odd, over all was a wonderful little girl. Mae couldn’t wish for a daughter better suited to her family. She would love her new daughter the same way she loved her son. Soon she wouldn’t be new anymore than Sonny was.


End file.
